


Cuidado

by urbanMystic



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Internal Monologue, Short, Songfic, sombra/widow mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 19:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15757995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urbanMystic/pseuds/urbanMystic
Summary: In the aftermath of a one night stand, Sombra has to figure out what to do about the man with the red serape.





	Cuidado

**Author's Note:**

> The song is "Cuidado" by La Santa Cecilia
> 
> "English is in quotes."  
> < Spanish is in carets, > _except for song lyrics._

It was 8 pm by the time Sombra looked at a clock. She had long ago disabled the timekeepers in the corner of her screens and in her terminal windows. They distracted her, often making her feel the need to rush. Digging through the bowels of the internet required patience and steadfastness above all else. Outside, in solidarity with the hacker’s thorough pace, the midsummer sun was still up, painting everything warmly orange.

The timepiece Sombra would tolerate sat on her desk under a pile of instant meals. It was purple and plastic and cheap, just a small rectangular box with a digital face and a few buttons.

<I guess I worked a dayshift for once,> the hacker mused.

Across the street, the bar was playing oldies, some song old enough where the band was long dead and buried. Still, even when Calaveras got nostalgic, Sombra could enjoy the music. Rising from her chair into a stretch, she staggered over to the fridge for a beer. As the can hissed from a broken seal, lilac eyes caught sight of a half finished cigar in an ashtray. She picked it up and put the half-chewed end in her own mouth. The owner was long gone, having left around daybreak without so much as a goodbye.

With the beer in hand, Sombra scurried up a ladder on the back of her shabby apartment to get to the roof. It wasn’t a far climb, as she lived in what was a one room home refurbished from the colonial era. From her house on the top of the hill, the entire town was open to view, rows and rows of houses refurbished by order of Lumerico for their workers. It irked her, how clean and identically tan they could be. At least the giant mock ziggurat across the bay referenced the Aztec empire and not the Spanish invasion. Still, it would have to fall. All empires would.

The cigar was re-lit. Smoke temporarily painted grey swirls over the view of the fishing boats out in the water. Those, Sombra never tired of. Childhood memories of free fish relieved some tension from her back. Stolen or gifted, it had always been there.The roof had a few plastic chairs and a “table” made from old pallets. The lighter was one of various pieces of evidence that Sombra would come up here to relax, sometimes not alone. 

With the mix of beer and smoke on her tongue, she began to muse over a decision she had to make. All day, the info dealer had been reading up on her one-night stand: Jesse McCree.

On the one hand, he was charming, capable of talking for hours without giving away anything about himself. He didn’t pry, didn’t assume anything. A handsome man who understood how these arrangements worked was useful, and he had plenty of reasons to keep her a secret. She closed her eyes to remember the time they had spent on her roof the night before, talking about travel essentials and how to get onto trains without paying fare. He had a broad smile and an easy laugh. Without him, the roof felt contemplative, a little empty. 

_ Cuidado _

_ Mucho cuidado _

_ Que estas tomando por un rumbo equivocado _

 

On the other hand, anyone that saw the inside of her bedroom really should be gotten rid of. And with the police after him, it would be easy. There would be other people, cheap hotel rooms if she really had to scratch that itch.

The next drag of the cigar had to be savoured. There might not be another.

It would be a lot easier if blackmail were an option. Unfortunately, Jesse didn’t seem to be the kind of freak who would get off on it. No, he was the kind to walk around in delicate lace panties under layers and layers of machismo. The thought of it warmed Sombra’s core again. She smirked. She would need to check if he ran off with any of hers.  _ That  _ sort of man would be very hard to find again. His way of nuzzling that beard against her neck would also be a rare surprise, the perfect blend of careful and firm, tobacco and sweat.

She sipped her drink and tried not to relive the entire encounter.

Even if she didn’t try to buck off the cowboy, would he be open to an ongoing… arrangement? Would he ever come back to town? Or would that be too big a risk? 

 

_ Cuidado _

_ No estoy tan siega, para dejarte continuar con este juego _

 

That settled it. The responsible thing to do would be to turn him in to any of the dozen people after him and go on with her life. Besides, it was obvious she was just using him because she couldn’t have the purple-skinned woman she really wanted. Sea air blew over her skin and ports, reminding her of the empty feeling that spider often left her with. 

Unable to resist her memories caressing over her visitor, Sombra remembered how Jesse had gotten up and left long before any reasonable person would be awake. It was a similar feeling, an emptiness that was hard not to pick at, an unrest that had caused her to blow hours at her rig looking up the wannabe cowboy.

<Sombra!> Someone yelled up at her from the street, <Don’t tell me you’re moping over that coworker again!>

<Fuck you, Manuel!> she laughed, leaning with her elbows on the edge of the roof.

The man on the street was also an ex-gang member, someone who had left Los Muertos to raise his kids. A scar ran across his face, a memoir of his “exit interview”. He smiled warmly up at his neighbor, carefree.

<Come down! José is letting us start the grill.>

<Maybe in a little bit!>

<Maybe? No, come down. I wanna hear about that gringo you took home last night.>

<How did you-> Of course the town knew. The old women who gossiped in the square had taught Sombra a lot about how people let secrets slide.

<The fruit vendor saw him leave your place around 6 am.>

<I have work.> She took a swig of her beer.

Manuel laughed, <You work too much!>

<You don’t work enough! Does Elena know you’re here?>

Sombra’s neighbor threw his hands up in mock surrender and walked back into Calaveras. She shimmied down the ladder, empty beer can left behind, cigar still clenched in her teeth. She actually had a meeting soon, one she had to build a secure channel for.

The ashtray moved to her desk. She sat back in her chair and started saving files. Jesse had a hard life: Deadlock gang at 15, Blackwatch by 17, Overwatch collapse a decade ago. It made sense he was such an armored man. TALON’s files were extensive but outdated. Once Overwatch collapsed, he didn’t seem to be much of a threat to their organization.

She also saw how he lost his arm. Zero, another TALON operative, had a long running feud with McCree that kept piling up lost body parts. If she told Zero where McCree was, it would tie up that loose end and gain her credit with TALON.

And she would be on the line with her “supervisor” in less than 30 minutes.

_ < You know,>  _ her internal voice mentioned, < _ He is too busy running to really dig into you. Besides, you could attracted to more than one person at a time.> _

Her internal voice had a valid point. It made sense that with all the trustworthy locals willing to have a fun friday night, she picked the first emotionally unavailable American who walked past her twice. Closed off people were safe. She could look all she wanted, have lovely daydreams about them, even a romp, and never worry.

No screaming matches. No “where were you?”. No leaked secrets. No one to get kidnapped or threatened. No questions about her past. Relationships were trouble Sombra couldn’t afford.

 

_ Cuidado _

_ Cuando me tengas que dejar, a un lado _

_ Piensa que el mundo seguirá girando _

_ Que una vez acabaras llorando _

 

With the scent of Jesse’s cigar thick in the air and the mark of his teeth in her shoulder, there was a queasy pull on her gut. Her chest twinged at the thought of last night’s coyote wild, sagebrush-faced, attentive lover being thrown in a cell. She hadn’t gotten into this life to take freedom from other outcasts. This wasn’t a matter of dating anyone, just the aftermath of a one-night romp.

<Alright cowboy,> she whispered as she put out her smoke, <You get to run free this time.>

Pfft. As if he’d come back. Sombra donned a headset and started the vidchat.

<Gabe!> she called into her mic, <You learn Spanish yet?>

A mask icon came up in place of the American’s face, along with the face of one Akande Ogundimu. Akande was not amused.

“For the last time,” Reyes sounded tired, “English is the one language every member speaks, and I can  _ understand _ you.”

Ogundimu cut to the chase, “Did you get the information I asked for?”

Sombra grinned. Play time was over. Time to work. Behind her, the bar kept playing oldies as the sun set into the west. Fishermen prepared to sleep in their uniquely colored homes by the bay. The fruit vendor was arguing with his wife over how much to charge for mangos, and 500 miles north, Jesse McCree sat on a train and wondered when it would be safe to go back to Dorado. 

  
  



End file.
